Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “The first sight of El Capitán. A man does not give up such a horse unless he is in fear of something no less than death.”

  “This is only an opinion you are giving me, not a fact.”

  “Well, then, for the facts. I come out here and am brought before the master of the house. I find him reported to be an invalid, hardly able to journey to the field of the rodeo. I come to his house and find him a sturdy-looking man with a fine, clear color...”

  “There are maladies which do not show in the face, my friend,” said Alvarez calmly.

  “But if you are not sick, what then is wrong with you? Fear can be like a disease, I have been told. Suppose that fear has kept you in your house, since the attempt was made on your life.”

  “If I considered myself in danger, there are capable sheriffs in this country. They would take charge of my problem.”

  “Suppose that the power you fear is something that a sheriff cannot help. As for sheriffs and men with guns, you could fill your house with them. There is the fellow in the tree outside the window, for instance.”

  “The blockhead!” exclaimed Alvarez. “He is a pig without sense!”

  “He had not counted on the wind. That is all.”

  “But in short, my plan in holding the rodeo was to secure the most capable bodyguard that I could find and, in order to do that, I would spare no expense and would use even my finest horse as a bait... a horse which my daughter loves passionately... yet I give him up as the bait to draw the best man into my trap?”

  “That,” said Kobbe, “is exactly my idea. Am I wrong?”

  The other hesitated a moment, drumming on the arm of his chair and looking straight before him as though, for a moment, he had forgotten the presence of his guest.

  “You are entirely right,” he said at last. ‘I am living in fear of sudden death. I have been existing through this past week in the fear of a knife in the back or a bullet through the heart. And the law I cannot call into my use. How can I tell that the men of the law themselves will not be bribed?”

  “How can you tell that I may not be bribed?” asked Kobbe.

  “By your face,” said Alvarez. “There are certain things which we know by instinct. I think that this is one thing. We know a man as we know a note of music from all other notes. The difference appears to the ear alone and cannot be described. In that way I know that you are an honest man.”

  “And you know nothing of me except what you have seen?”

  “I am not a fool. Do you think that I would put my head into the mouth of a strange lion? I know a great deal more about you than you will imagine. The instant the rodeo began, I started inquiries about every one of the men who were entered for the shooting contest. About you I learned that you were born in Wyoming, were taken East when your uncle with whom you were living... because your father had been dead for ten years... struck it rich in the mines. That you were educated in the East, but that when your uncle lost his money you returned to the West again.”

  “Then,” said Kobbe, “you know my father’s name?”

  “Of course. His name was John Turner. And your name is John Kobbe Turner.”

  Kobbe, or Turner, as he had just been called, sat stiffly in his chair. Some of the color had left his cheeks. And his eyes had grown as grave and as brilliant as the eyes of a great beast of prey. Alvarez winced before that stare, but he maintained a steady smile as well as he could.

  “What more,” asked Kobbe, “do you know about me?”

  “That you are a straight shot,” said Alvarez. “And that is all I wish to know.”

  “What is your proposition?” asked Kobbe.

  “A salary which you can name at your own pleasure. You will have a room next to my room. It will be your duty to live night and day with weapons at hand ready to come to my help at my first signal. I shall have other guards working outside the house, but if peril comes from within, then I shall have you to strike for me. What do you say to this, Señor Turner?”

  “Kobbe, if you please!”

  “By all means, Señor Kobbe.”

  “Give me a moment to think it over.”

  “As long as you wish.”

  Kobbe, as he preferred to be called, stood up and walked slowly back and forth across the little room and finally stood in front of the window looking out upon the garden and the tree which stood in it, holding the guard. He was seeing nothing but his own thoughts, however, and these brought a black frown to his forehead until, out of a side path, a girl walked into his view, singing. She had pushed a small red rose into her black hair. Her face was tilted up by her song and her olive cheeks were bright. Slowly she crossed that part of the garden which Kobbe could overlook, until the weight of his eyes seemed to warn her. She paused suddenly, glanced across to him, and with an exclamation of alarm fled from his view.

  He turned slowly to Alvarez. “I shall stay,” he said.

  V. SEÑOR LOPEZ

  THE STIPULATIONS OF Alvarez were strict. Kobbe, so long as he cared to stay on the place and with the work, must never leave the immediate precincts of the house and the gardens. He must be ready at any time to accompany Alvarez on journeys, no matter of what extent, and he must hold himself ready, day and night, to come to the defense of the older man with all his skill and with unfailing courage. In return, he was to receive a handsome salary, a chair at the table of Alvarez, a mozo to look after his needs, and every possible liberty of motion within the house and its immediate grounds. It was not necessary that he be constantly near the person of Alvarez. It was, however, vital that he be within calling distance at all times.

  And Kobbe accepted, making only one exception — which was that he be allowed to take one hour’s freedom with El Capitán before his period of service began. And so, a few minutes later, he was galloping across the hills at a round rate, with the big chestnut stretching away with a stride as easy as flowing water and almost as smooth.

  Kobbe held straight on until he came to a thicket between two hills. There he paused and raised a sharp whistle. It was answered almost at once, and after a moment a second horseman broke out from a covert and rode hastily down to meet him.

  The newcomer was a stately fellow, well past middle age, arrow straight in the saddle, with a dark skin and a black eye and a sort of foreign gentility which was as easily distinguishable as the color of his eyes, but which was difficult to describe. He greeted Kobbe by raising his hand in salutation.

  “Something has gone wrong, my son,” he said as he drew close and reined his horse to a halt.

  “It has,” said Kobbe.

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t raise a hand against him.”

  “You?”

  “I’ve made up my mind. I cannot attempt to injure him.”

  A flush of hot anger settled in the face of the older man but, like a person of experience, he did not speak for an instant, allowing the flush to subside a little and some of the sparkles to pass out of his eyes.

  “What has happened?” he asked at length.

  “In the first place, he trusted me.”

  “And so, in the old days, did we trust him.”

  “Señor Lopez, his crime was committed a long time ago.”

  “But it has never been forgotten.”

  “Perhaps you are wrong to keep it so close to your heart all these years.”

  “Your father would not have been of that opinion.”

  “You cannot judge. My father was a man who often changed his mind. I remember it very well.”

  “He could change his mind, but he could never change it about his murderer.”

  “Murderer? I cannot help thinking that that word is too strong.”

  “Dastardly murder, John, of a man who trusted him and to whom he owed a great deal.”

  “Nothing has ever been known for certain.”

  “We have evidence which only a fool could doubt.”

  “I shall be sorry to have you write me down a fool.”

 
The older man shrugged his shoulders.

  “I shall try to be very temperate,” he said. “I have no desire to anger you, my boy. I know that whatever conclusion you have come to has the gravest reasons behind it. For you are your father’s son, after all, and being his son you must have the strongest desire in your heart to revenge him.”

  “If I were sure that Don Ramon were guilty...”

  “Call him by his true name.”

  “Why not by the new name? Under the old name I hate him. Under the new name I have found him gentle, courteous, and willing to trust me.”

  “So did we all find him until the time for the test came.”

  “But consider that for ten years he has been living in this country, and he has taught his servants and his neighbors to love him. They all swear by Don Ramon.”

  “So they might have sworn by your father, if he had been alive. But this treacherous hound removed him from the earth.”

  “It is not proved. Besides... it is possible for men to change, señor.”

  “Some men can change from good to better, or from bad to worse. But no man can change his essential nature.”

  “I cannot help doubting the truth of that.”

  “Other people have doubted it, but it is always proved.”

  “If there were not such a thing as repentance, why should people be punished and not destroyed? But society believes that men who have committed one fault may not necessarily be all bad. They may change and learn better ways.”

  “The spots on the leopard will not change, my son.”

  “What evil has he done for ten years?”

  “He has grown fat with money which is not his. It is easy to be a giver of charity when one is passing on stolen money.”

  “He has a straight, clear eye, and he talks like a man.”

  “But he has the heart of a devil under that eye, my young friend. What will the ghost of your murdered father think when he looks down and sees that you are reconciled to his murderer?”

  “He will think that I am doing only what my conscience tells me to do.”

  “Conscience, John?”

  “What else?”

  “Has the money of Ramon, as you call him, nothing to do with it?”

  “Sir?” said Kobbe coldly.

  “I am not accusing you. I am only asking you to open your eyes to motives which you yourself may not be aware of.”

  “His money has no weight with me.”

  “You are a remarkable young man, then.”

  “Your tongue is sharp today, señor.”

  “What has happened? This morning you called him a snake that should be treated as a snake is treated. How has he changed in the meantime?”

  “He has changed by being known.”

  “John, you are talking lightly to me. Do I deserve no better than this from you?”

  “I am talking to you as honestly as I know how.”

  “Tell me this, then. What do you intend to do?”

  “I have taken a new position.” He raised his head and looked Lopez firmly in the eye, and yet he flushed in spite of himself, in shame for the thoughts which he knew would spring into the mind of his companion when what he had done was known.

  “And that position?” asked Lopez, turning pale.

  “You have already guessed it.”

  “I pray to heaven that I have not guessed correctly.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll tell you in so many words. I already know the way in which you will judge me. I only ask you to keep the spoken words to yourself. Yes, I have taken a position as the bodyguard of Don Ramon!”

  There was a groan from Lopez. “Treason!” he cried at last.

  “No,” said Kobbe, “but a love of fair play.”

  “Is it fair play to leave us and be bought up by the money which our enemy has stolen from us?”

  “I know this much,” said Kobbe slowly, making a great effort to control himself, “that Don Ramon was always accused by you of having committed a crime which is too detestable to name. Perhaps he is guilty. But my personal feeling after meeting him face to face and talking with him in his own house is that he cannot be guilty of such a crime. If I am wrong, I am very sorry.”

  “You have not only made up your mind that he is innocent, but you have determined to fight for him?”

  “There is no one else in the world who could fight on his side. There is no one else who knows the names and the faces of the men who are against him. There is no one else who can tell that he is being hounded down by a conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy?”

  “There is hardly a better word for it. You have tried him according to your own prejudices and not according to the law. You are going to butcher him like a dog if you can. I tell you Señor Lopez, it is going to be my work to keep you from it!”

  The eyes of the other flashed fire, and his lips worked for a moment before he could speak in answer.

  “Go back to him, then,” he said at last. “Tell him the names, describe our faces, tell our purpose. He will have the hills combed with posses before midnight has come. He will hunt us down, perhaps. And rather than be caught, we will die fighting, be assured! Our blood will be upon your head! Farewell!”

  “Wait,” said Kobbe, greatly moved. “You have misunderstood me. I shall not whisper a word that will identify or accuse a single one of you. He already knows something. He knows that there is a conspiracy against him. He knows that I am my father’s son. And yet he seems to feel that I cannot be one of the plot to stab him in the darkness. It is going to be my purpose to make him know that he has not been wrong in trusting me; but at the same time, I had rather have my hands cut off than to speak a word against you. Will you try to believe that?”

  “How can I believe that you are able to feel for both sides in a fight?”

  “You must believe me, nevertheless.”

  “Yet you will be with him in his house and you have sworn that if he is attacked you will defend him.”

  “I have.”

  “Do you see what that means, John?”

  “In what way?”

  “It means that you, being our enemy, we must protect ourselves from your interference.”

  “And that?”

  “John, we have sworn to stay together until we have destroyed our enemy. If we find an obstacle in our path, even if it is the son of the man we loved most in the world, do you think that we can afford to hesitate, knowing that we will be truer to his memory and to his wishes than you?”

  “You will try to get rid of me, then?”

  “If you stay with him, we must. John, if you feel that we are wrong, stand aside and take no part on either side. I tell you, you cannot save him except by betraying us to the law. And if you try to foil us with your single hand, you only bring destruction on your own head as well as upon his. Do you understand me?”

  “I wish that I had never heard you speak as you have just done.”

  “It is the truth.”

  “Then go back and tell the others that I have made up my mind.”

  “What shall I tell them?”

  “That I am staying with Don Ramon, and that if he is attacked I shall shoot to kill in his defense.”

  “God forgive you, John.”

  “And may God forgive you, Señor Lopez. But I swear to you that if you yourself come near Don Ramon, I shall shoot you through the body if my gun is out before yours.”

  “And I swear to you, John, that your death is not twenty-four hours away!”

  They reined back their horses until a considerable distance lay between them. Then Kobbe twisted his mount around and sent the chestnut flying down the hollow.

  VI. SEÑORITA MANTIEZ TALKS

  BUT THE WORDS of Lopez were working most effectually when Kobbe was far out of his sight, for he turned back and forth through his mind what his late companion had said and he began to confess to himself that it was not a true faith in the honesty of Alvarez which kept him with the latter. It was becaus
e he had caught one glimpse of the girl who walked through the garden, and he knew that if he left the service of Don Ramon he was also leaving behind him all hope of ever seeing her again. And see her again he must, for in that instant she had been stamped into his soul. She had added something to his life. She had changed him so utterly that it seemed to Kobbe that he was no longer the man he had been before that vision in the garden. He was happier; he was far stronger. How else could he have faced Lopez without being overawed by that solemn gentleman?

  Yet, knowing guiltily that it was for the sake of the girl that he had denied the arguments of Lopez, he could not feel any great repentance. All shadows disappeared in the glorious thought that he was soon to meet her at the dinner table.

  He was back at the house so late that he had barely time to get ready for the evening meal, and when he went into the library he found the girl and Don Ramon already there and waiting.

  She was presented to him as Señorita Mantiez. It was a great surprise to Kobbe, but he made up his mind that she must be a protégée of the rich man — perhaps his niece, perhaps the daughter of some unfortunate friend who had died. But he had no energy left for the determination of her place in the household. All his wits were occupied in the task of watching her with consummate attention and at the same time screening that examination from the eyes of Don Ramon.

  The señorita wore a dress of yellow lace — indeed, it was closer to ivory than to yellow. And she wore no ornament whatever, saving a single ring with a single ruby set in it. It was a marvelous stone, and Kobbe wondered why women ever wore more than one jewel, and that a ruby. Sometimes it sent an arrow of crimson through the water glass. Sometimes it flashed near the face of the girl and made her seem pale and her eyes great and dark and tragically dull. And again its flash sparkled with the chime of her laughter. And again, it was a bright touch of fire that gave brilliance to her gesture.

  And she made so lovely a picture as she chatted with them that Kobbe could hardly answer her when she spoke to him. He could only pray that his silence would be taken as absent-mindedness or as dullness of wit. Anything was preferable to their knowledge that he was lost in the worship of her beauty.